


In a Different Light

by Lexalicious70



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: M/M, Quentin is insecure, showering together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 19:22:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17534699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: Quentin and Eliot have an explosive reunion after Eliot returns from the Neitherlands, but the lack of magic presents new challenges for Quentin, who realizes they are entering a whole new level of intimacy.





	In a Different Light

**Author's Note:**

  * For [machtaholic (cinderella81)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinderella81/gifts).



> This is for my Wifey Bex, who is always there to listen, even when I don’t know how to express myself because I’m an introverted potato. I love you, doll! Also, I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for fun. Comments and kudos are magic! Enjoy.

In a Different Light

## By Lexalicious70

 

“Missed you so much—”

 

“Thought I’d never see you again!”

 

“Swore I’d do this if I ever got to see you again—” The words, punctuated by deep kisses, reverberated in the room Eliot still claimed in the Physical Kids cottage at Brakebills. No magic meant no new students, so the room had been pretty much as he’d left it before becoming high king of Fillory. Now he and Quentin were alone there, bathed in shadows, and the younger man was mewling as Eliot’s hands opened his black jeans and the left one slipped inside. Quentin’s hips thrust upward.

 

“Fuck, El! Oh God, fuck . . .” He gripped Eliot’s shirtfront with both hands as Eliot undid his own trousers with his free hand and guided one of Quentin’s hands there.

 

“Touch me, Q,” He whispered, nuzzling Quentin’s neck in encouragement, taking in his scent—the mild spice of old paper, leather, the clean smell of his fine, tawny hair. Quentin’s hand slipped into his boxers and his hand pressed and stroked without confidence but enough eagerness to make up for the lack. They’d been separated for months ever since the old gods had turned off magic, and even though they’d only kissed a few times and flirted a lot during their time in Fillory, (unless you counted that weird, magic-and-wine-fueled threesome they’d had with Margo during Q’s first year,) the need to touch Quentin, to make sure he was truly real and there, was overwhelming now. Quentin seemed to share this feeling and leaned against Eliot, breathing in steep gasps against his lips as they kissed. His cock was an iron shaft in Quentin’s hand and he usually lasted longer than this but God, it was Q, his Q—

 

“Oh!” Quentin gasped suddenly, pulling off Eliot’s mouth and shuddering as he came hard, spilling over Eliot’s hand and his own thighs. The hot rush pushed Eliot over the edge as well and he followed suit, shuddering as pleasure crashed over him in waves. He thumped back onto the mattress a moment later, panting lightly, letting the little twitches and shivers of aftershock run through his cock and inner thighs. Quentin remained sitting, hunched over, as he slid his hand free of Eliot’s boxers. He remained that way for several moments, and Eliot shifted his attention to his friend.

 

“Quentin?”

 

“Mmmhmmh?”

 

“Are you all right?”

 

“Uhm—why do you ask?”

 

“Because your body language is awfully tense for someone who just had one gusher of an orgasm.”

 

“Oh. I—well, I guess I—haven’t really . . . you know—since we lost magic. I got used to being able to—” He started to gesture and winced as his hand dripped. “Cleaning spells.”

 

Eliot grinned.

 

“We still have showers, Quentin!” He rose all at once, letting his pants and boxers drop. “Come on. We’ll conserve water and take one together.” He took a few steps toward the door then paused as Quentin didn’t follow. “Q?”

 

Quentin seemed to shrink into the shadows. After a moment, he spoke from them.

 

“I—”

 

“What?”

 

“I’m not exactly used to being naked in front of other people. I usually don’t—there was Alice, but we had a different kind of dynamic.”

 

“The kind that didn’t include having quick and dirty liaisons?” Eliot asked, unable to keep the dryness from his tone, and Quentin cleared his throat.

 

“Okay, so I’m not used to being naked in front of you.”

 

“Well. I’m glad we’ve arrived at this new plateau. I admit that what I remember of our night with Margo comes to me in mostly in flashes of what I can only call sense memory, I don’t recall being unhappy with any part of you, Q.”

 

“But this is different. We’re here and it’s just us and there’s no magic and you’ll see me . . .” Quentin glanced up. “You’ll really see me.”

 

“Yes. And you will see me.” Eliot returned to the bed and took Quentin’s left hand, the one that wasn’t sticky. “Come on. It’ll be fine, I promise.” He tugged Quentin off the bed and led him across the hall to the bathroom, which Eliot and Margo had all but claimed for their own. He shut and locked the door and Quentin blinked as he flicked on the lights. His jeans still hung open and Eliot touched his face. “What are you afraid of, Quentin?”

 

“I don’t know. I guess that I don’t have a good body or—or that you won’t like what you see once you see all of it?”

 

“What do you think I expect?”

 

 “I—I don’t know, El! I just want to be what you want, and what if I’m not? What if—”

 

Eliot put a long, slender finger to Quentin’s lips a moment and then turned on the shower. As he let the water heat up, he began to unbutton Quentin’s shirt.

 

“Firstly, you’ve been what I want since the moment I saw you, you sad, silly little man. Secondly, there’s nothing I want more than for you to be exactly who you’ve always been, weird fucking quirks and all.” He peeled the shirt off. “By the way, is this all-black ensemble your depression thing or an ‘I’m in mourning for magic’ thing?”

 

“More like ‘the world is a dick and this is how I choose to express that,’ thing,” Quentin said as he toed off his shoes and swept them aside with one foot, focusing on the task as Eliot tugged the shirt off the rest of the way and took in his chest—lean, with small, pinkish-brown nipples and a strip of tawny hair between his pecs.

 

“Look at this.” Eliot ran two fingers through it. “Like a sweet little landing strip!” He removed his own shirt then and let Quentin look at him.

 

“I didn’t realize you had that much chest hair,” he said after a moment, raising one hand and splaying his fingers out against Eliot’s chest. “And it’s soft.”

 

“I used to shave it, back in the day,” Eliot admitted. “But it’s not worth the shaving rash or the itch.” He took off his shoes and set them aside before hooking his thumbs around the loops in Quentin’s pants, tugging them and his wet boxers down before his friend could protest. Quentin’s lips moved and he looked away, knowing the fluorescent lights would reveal him completely. Eliot’s amber gaze took in all the details and then he reached out to touch Quentin’s chin. The shorter man trembled.

 

“I know I’m—”

 

“Perfect.” Eliot interrupted before kissing Quentin warmly on the mouth and shedding his own trousers and boxers. Quentin’s eyes widened a moment as he caught sight of Eliot’s cock, impressive even soft, his dark pubic hair still shiny with jizz. Eliot smiled a little.

 

“You’re surprised?”

 

I—I guess not, I mean, I could feel how big—”

 

“Thank you.” Eliot stepped into the shower and held out both hands. Quentin took them and stepped in before closing the curtain. Eliot turned him until the spray began to wet his hair and run down his back. Eliot traced his fingers over Quentin’s right shoulder, where he could feel the slight dip where Wood met muscle under the synthetic skin. “Does it hurt?” He murmured, and Quentin shook his head.

 

“Not really. Sometimes if the weather is damp it gets a little achy but that’s it, really.”

 

Eliot leaned over and planted a kiss on the imperfection before picking up a bottle of body wash and a loofa. Quentin closed his eyes a moment, focusing on the feel of the water and Eliot’s closeness. The loofa began to move over his body in careful circles a moment later, and he opened his eyes to see Eliot washing him. He stilled, moving only when Eliot directed him to raise his arms. The loofa left rich paths of lather wherever it touched, and then Eliot turned him. A fingertip traced his cacodemon tattoo.

 

“This is hot. I still wish I’d gotten one.”

 

“You really don’t.” Quentin shook his head. “It hurt like a motherfucker.”

 

“Still . . . it’s sexy. Tip your head back.”

 

Quentin obeyed and was rewarded with Eliot’s lathered hands in his hair, moving through it, massaging his scalp and up under his neck. Quentin gave an involuntary noise that sounded like a large, happy cat, and Eliot chuckled.

 

“I enjoy having my hair washed too. Bambi does it for me sometimes and it’s heavenly. Rinse.” He directed Quentin’s head under the spray and washed himself while Quentin rinsed the shampoo from his hair. Eliot turned the water off a moment later and it died with a drip and a gurgle before he pushed the curtain aside and grabbed a large white towel and held it open. “Come on.”

 

Quentin stepped into the towel and Eliot wrapped him up, using one section to massage his hair until it was damp instead of dripping. Quentin looked up at him, and the prolonged eye contact gave Eliot pause.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Just—thank you, El.” He paused. “I’m really okay to look at?”

 

Eliot touched his face.

 

“Quentin Coldwater, you are the most okayest, precious fucking dork I’ve ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on.” He leaned in and gave the shorter man a peck on the lips. “Come on, let’s go get lots and lots of wine.” He took Quentin’s hand and led him back to the bedroom, where his words chased away the shadows and illuminated the center of Quentin’s heart.

 

Fin

 

 


End file.
